Pool Game
by pseudonymical
Summary: Eric and Ron play pool.


AN: Said I'd write an Eric pool game with Ron. Here it is. Hope you like, read and review.

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><p>"Oh, I needed that." Eric sighed, taking a drag on his cigarette. He twirled his pool cue around in one hand, watching Ron line up and take his shot.<p>

"Withdrawal's a bitch, huh?" The younger man asked absently, as the cue ball hit the triangular cluster, breaking it apart. Alas, none of the balls made their way into a pouch.

"It's not withdrawal if I'm not quitting. I mean, it's not as though I can get lung cancer, I don't see why I need to stop." He gently pushed Ron out of his way, balancing the cue in a guiding finger. "It's just that Will won't let me smoke at work, and Alan won't let me smoke while I'm around him-thank god for billiards halls, no one cares if there's smoke in here." The white ball clacked against another, ricocheting off the sides of the green table. A striped purple sphere dropped into the left side pocket.

"Damn." Ron's curse was quiet. If Eric got the first shot, he typically kept the lead. He walked around the side of the table and bent over to take his shot. Thank god there was a straight shot lined up, he couldn't miss it. True to his reckoning, he made it easily.

"Mm, good one, but..." Eric studied the layout for a second before aiming. _Clackclack_. Two striped balls made their way to two pockets. "...I can do you one better." He straightened, looking intensely smug. Eric was quite good at seeing angles and places for shots, which was troublesome for his opponent. "I knew I should have bet on this game." The tall man added as Ron bent over the table.

"Are you allowed to bet on yourself?" The voice from behind them made them both jerk in surprise-Ron's cue hitting the white ball, which went badly astray.

"Mother of-"

"Scratch." Said Grell. Ron swore again.

"I know." He snarled, picking the cue ball out of the pocket and handing it to Eric. "Why in the name of all that's holy are _you_ here?"

"Sir 'needs to wash his hair' over there in the corner is going to have a heart attack in about fifteen minutes." Grell indicated a man in the corner, who was consuming a beer. "And you?"

"We've both got the night off." Eric said, placing the ball on the table.

"And you're not spending it with little Alan?" The redhead asked, twirling a strand of hair around his finger.

"Ah, he doesn't like pool halls, and he's got a book to finish." Eric propped his hand up on the table and rested his cue on it to aim.

"Why aren't you aiming at _that_ one?" Grell pointed to a solid orange ball that was perfectly between the cue ball and a pocket.

"Because we're playing eight-ball. Ron's solids, I don't want to score him any points."

"But... the one you're aiming at isn't even in front of a hole-and you're aiming at the side of it anyway, you're going to miss." Eric smirked and jabbed with the cue.

"Am I really?" He stood up to admire his handiwork. The balls bounced off at the angles he'd intended, the colored one rolling into the pocket.

"It seems foolish to ask, but... who's winning?"

"Eric is, the cocky bastard." Ron answered. Eric merely smiled and shifted his cigarette to the other side of his mouth, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

"Where's Will?" He asked, scanning the crowd and not seeing their dark-haired supervisor anywhere.

"I'm not his mommy, don't ask me." Grell raised an eyebrow. "He's over there." He jerked his head towards a wall where William stood stiffly, ignoring them. Ron laughed at Grell's contradiction and took his shot.

"Yes! Got it! Your turn, Eric." He said smugly. "I hope you miss."

"What a nice man. And you wish I'd miss-you've left me an easy-" As he moved his arm, Grell gently bumped into him. The cue hit the table, skidding under the cue ball and jumping it over his target, smacking into the eight-ball. The tall man sucked in a breath, his eyes burning into the green table, willing the ball to stop rolling.

"Come on, come on, come on." Ron egged on Eric's potential loss, sighing when the eight-ball stopped directly in front of a pocket. "Ah, man."

"You can't tell me we'd really have counted it, this idiot pushed me." Eric said, jerking his thumb at Grell, who whistled innocently, looking guiltier than sin. "You nearly cost me my game, you bloody fool." He directed at Grell.

"Hey, you counted my scratch, that was his fault too." Ron pointed out, bending over to take his shot.

"Nice ass." Grell commented, mouth turning up at the corners, making him look utterly evil. Ron flushed, standing up quickly. The redhead cackled. Even Eric wore the hint of an amused smile. He reconsidered his shot, walking around the table so his back wouldn't be facing them. Eric snorted.

"That's not going to stop him, Ron."

"It reassures me, though." Another solid sunk into a right corner pocket. "Your shot."

"Is there a score on this thing?" Grell asked as Eric surveyed the table.

"Well, we've each got to make seven before we do the eight-ball. Eric's got four in, I've got three." Ron explained. Eric stooped down and took aim. Grell opened his mouth again, clearly about to make another, possibly more sexual, remark.

"Don't even bother. I couldn't care less if you stare at my butt." The blonde concentrated on the table, not looking up at his companions.

"I suppose Alan does enough of that so you're used to it." Grell's grin widened.

"It's more the other way around, really." Ron cut in, happy to join the conversation as long as he wasn't the subject. Eric made his shot, sinking another and patently ignoring them.

"Alan, now, _there's_ a nice ass." Grell said. Ron laughed at Eric's subsequent expression, which was clearly torn between agreeing and forbidding Grell to ever check Alan out again. Before he had to decide, William appeared out of the smoke and shadows of the room. No one had noticed him leaving his post, but he was now standing behind Grell, a hand on his shoulder. The hand looked quite relaxed, but from the look on the redhead's face, it was exerting a lot of pressure.

"Don't bother, Will, he's probably enjoying himself." Eric said as Ron lined up his cue. "Masochist." William frowned at Eric's lack of formality, but chose to overlook it.

"Sutcliff. Two minutes until death, and you are wasting time at a pool game. Do you even know what's going on?"

"Not really." Grell smiled as angelically as possible with a mouth of razor teeth. William's expression came close to an exasperated snarl, but he settled for merely dragging his lazy redheaded partner over towards their target. Eric rolled his eyes again and sighed.

When the man across the room fell off his barstool, clutching his left arm, every person in the hall crowded towards the body, someone shouting, "I'm a doctor! I'm a doctor!" Eric and Ron had seen enough bodies and death in their line of work that they could ignore the commotion easily, continuing their game, which earned them a few odd looks. If ever their eyes had been drawn to the other side of the room, they would have noticed the whirling tendrils of a cinematic record and the two men fending it off-but they didn't, and the battle went unobserved by the humans as well, who could see neither the record nor the on-duty Reapers. Eric had just sunk his last striped, and, smirking, was lining up on the eight ball next to a cursing Ron-who was praying to every deity he could think of that the other would miss-when he yelped and shot upright, whipping around.

"Miss me?" Grell said, removing his hand from Eric's behind. The tall man glared at him, contemplating the pros and cons of hauling off and whacking him with the pool cue.

"I sure did." Ron said happily. "I think that was your best shot yet, Eric." Eric turned back to the table to see that his sudden movement had caused the white ball to roll dangerously close to a pocket-and line his opponent up for an easy shot.

"Son of a bitch!" He cursed, spinning on his heel back to the redhead as the pros suddenly tipped the scale dramatically. Behind him, he heard Ron's happily amused laugh-probably as he was about to sink his last and move on to the eight ball as well.

"Dammit. Eric, s'your turn." Ron said dejectedly, saving Grell from potential bloodying. "I missed!"

"Ha." Eric said darkly, slowly backing off of his coworker and taking a drag on his almost-extinguished cigarette.

"Hey, you're never going to make this one, Eric, I'm not worried." Ron sounded nonchalant, although his poor poker face showed his lie. Eric examined the table. The eight ball lay in the middle of the short end of the table, right up against the edge-the cue ball was all the way at the other end of the table. Ron was right, there really were no reliably good shots. And yet... Eric flicked the butt of his cigarette behind him and angled the cue very, very carefully. He drew back his arm as far as it could go.

The point of the cue met the ball with great force, rocketing it to the other end of the table, where it hit the stationary black ball hard. The clack was louder than any previous, and the eight ball struck the wall before it went shooting back towards Eric's end of the table, the white ball innocuously rolling to a stop near the left corner pocket. The two blondes held their breaths-for entirely separate reasons-as Grell looked on with interest. At some point, Will had come to stand behind his partner-although no one had noticed his appearance, and he too looked rather sucked into the climax of the game.

"Yes!" Eric said, throwing his cue down on the table. "You're buying drinks!"

"When did that become the rule?" Ron grumbled, before beginning to restore the table. "Anyway, good game, mate, brilliant shot there." He stuck out a hand to shake, which Eric took. "And if _I'm_ buying drinks, _you_ don't get to gloat."

Eric frowned comically. "I think I'll buy my own, then..."


End file.
